Wil huddled on his cot, his eyes peering through a crack in the wall that admitted rooftops and starlight.
The mattress’s straw stuffing didn’t cushion him from the hard wood underneath. Tonight, Father had hit him again. Wil had rolled with each blow, but he still stung.
The old drunk’s snores reminded Wil of ripping burlap.
He tried to curl against the cold but went limp as his aches worsened. His hands clutched a normal looking tooth strung onto a necklace. In his mind, the tooth seemed to shine through his fingers, but his eyes knew that it did not.
It was no larger than one of Wil’s teeth and had the same yellow hue. It wasn’t sharp either, less sharp than an alley mongrel’s fangs.
He smiled. The man who had given him this necklace had torn the tooth from a wild jalt’s mouth. No one else in Oakbrook had anything like it.
Father snorted. His breathing changed, and Wil guessed he’d be awake soon. Wil had come home too late that evening. He had stayed after Clem let him off, suds and grease on his arms, listening wide-eyed to Eisen the jalt-slayer’s tales. He’d risked this twice a week for a fortnight, but only tonight had Father struck him.
Wil’s ears perked at the clanks of pot shards and his breath caught in his throat. His father was up. The old man shuffled around in the dark, and Wil’s sore body tensed from fear of further abuse.
But Wil’s fears were unfounded. Father only relieved himself out the window, and returned to the mead-soaked rug the old man slept on.
Wil relaxed.
This had gone on far too long. Tomorrow, Wil would wake before sunrise and never return.
He cradled the jalt’s tooth until he found sleep.
* * *
When he woke, purple bruises painted his bony torso. He hid the worst of it under his best breeches and tunic, and then glanced at his other pair. No sense leaving them. As he picked them up, his eyes strayed towards an ale pot near his father. That pot held the coppers Father stole from him every payday. Wil licked his lips. He needed that coin.
He crept across the room, and plucked the coppers out, cushioning them in his spare clothes. His father snorted, and Wil froze. The old man’s breathing still held sleep’s ease, but Wil counted breaths until he lost track before scooping up the last three coins, and fleeing through the ale pot shards and into the hallway.
At the bottom of the stairs, their landlady pulled bread pans from the oven to cool. Her morning patrons gossiped over her steaming rolls and sausages from the neighboring butcher. Wil smiled. He would never return here.
He started for the door, but the landlady’s mitted hand caught his bruised shoulder.
“Where are you off so early?” Mistress Taveera asked.
“Out,” Wil managed, wishing his voice wasn’t so nasal and reedy.
“Out? That’ll wait.” She slammed the oven shut. “You’re behind on rent three months. The only reason I haven’t called the constable is for your departed mother’s sake. But I can’t have this forever…”
Wil felt his hands curl into fists as she said “constable”. She’d brought up rent now, before the patrons, to cause a spectacle. Some of the nearer ones turned to watch. His skin tingled as their eyes roosted on him.
He forced his hand open and exhaled slowly.
Any gossip would die if he paid her, and if his conscience didn’t stop him, he might pinch this much at the market in several good afternoons. But he had to meet Eisen at noon. He needed these coins.
His hand rested on his bundle as he thought.
“What’s that?” she asked, reaching towards the folded clothes.
“N-Nothing.” He hoped no one else saw the coins, but he bet she had.
She tugged the folded tunic and sent a coin flying.
Wil’s hand snapped out and caught it. “My potboy wages,” he said.
“My rent money,” she snarled so loudly that every head turned.
“Not yet,” he whispered.
“Come, boy. If you don’t, your poor father…”
His poor father. That sickened him. Grief was poor reason to bully and rob your son. Wil’s hand sought the jalt’s tooth for guidance.
“Kick him out if he won’t pay,” Wil said, the jalt’s tooth seeming hot in his hand. “I’m leaving, and you won’t see me again.”
His words echoed amongst the staring patrons. They would speak of this for days, but he didn’t care.
“Wil–,” she began, but he cut her off.
“That’s enough.”
She tried to grab him, but he slipped out and strode towards the door. She cursed at him, but didn’t chase. The slamming door silenced her, and Wil smiled. He took a bite from a warm roll he’d swiped from her pan. He had been hungry, and she’d deserved it.
* * *
He ducked into the crumbling façade of the Wailing Wench and greeted its balding innkeeper. Clem sat with mug in hand and fresh ale stains on his apron. He’d already had too much, judging from the ale-sweat at his pits.
“Why’re you in so early?” Clem slurred, and Wil wondered, yet again, how this man ran such a successful inn.
“Good morning, Master Clem, how’s the ale?” Wil asked. He wouldn’t miss this place either.
“Tastes like a mucky stable.” Clem spat onto the sawdust floor. “Gets you drunk though. What’s this I heard about you stiffing Taveera for rent?”
Wil stuttered to explain himself, never wondering how the news had outpaced him. “Well, ah, Father takes me coin, and—,”
Clem’s belch cut him short. “Father takes your coin? At your age? Take a club and break his hands when he sleeps, unless he guards your balls for you too.”
Wil’s fists clenched again, and it took real effort to unclench them. “I’m sick of Taveera,” he said, forcibly relaxing his voice. “I’m sick of Father, and I’m sick of you. I’m leaving.”
Clem guffawed. “What, with Eisen?”
Wil hadn’t realized Clem had overheard them. “Yes. I’m going to have adventures.”
Clem’s laughter splashed ale on his apron. “That’s rich. You’ll be back within the month. That life’s not for a rabbit like you.”
Wil hadn’t come for prophecies, just to resign, and now he regretted giving Clem even that courtesy. “Don’t save your pots for me,” he said, scowling as he fled outside.
* * *
Wil found Eisen in town square, leaning against a dusky stallion. The tall blond saw him in the crowds and waved.
What did Clem know, anyway?
Crystal-blue eyes followed Wil from above a thrice-broken nose. Wil had never feared the mercenary, though he thought he should.
Eisen’s drawl filled the square. “Nice bruises. What, forget to pay yer wench?”
“Yeah,” Wil mumbled, “something like that.”
Eisen’s brow furrowed and when he spoke again, his words were sharp. “That damned drunk beat you, didn’t he?”
“It’s not–,” Wil protested.
Eisen growled, “I’ll destroy him.” His hand already blanched on the two-hander’s hilt.
A woman’s tenor voice rang behind Wil. “Yeah. Hack apart a helpless drunk. Valiant. The bards shall sing your praise.”
Wil turned. A brown-robed old man and a stocky woman in tunic and breeches had crept behind him during Eisen’s speech. With horses no less.
“Great to see you too, Almitsel,” Eisen retorted without looking, but his hand left the hilt. “Break your fast on curdled milk as usual?”
“It was as delicious as your company,” she replied. “Have you fulfilled your morning quota of mindless threats yet?”
“No. I’ve still some left for you.”
The old man cut off their bickering. “Cease your imbecile natter. We ought not behave so here. Or anywhere. Are you prepared, Sir Eisen?”
Sir Eisen? Eisen was a knight?
Eisen’s voice had lightened to a drawl again. “I’m prepared, Ranpa, as always. This young man is Wil, he’ll come with us.”
Ranpa’s eyes widened. “Is that so?”
“Yes Sir,” Wil said.
“I’m no Sir, I… no, spare me my titles.” His attention returned to Eisen. “You’ve not invited anyone along before.”
Eisen grinned. “I must have good reason, then.”
Ranpa nodded and said, “I shall trust your judgment.”
“And I shall not.” Almitsel mimicked Ranpa’s speech perfectly. Her brown hair looked like long spines, sharp like the arrows in her quiver. “Have you both gone blind? What muscles he has are toned, but he’s beaten to a pulp, and rangy as a starving wolf.”
Ranpa inspected Wil closely and said at last, “He has good bones, and his sinews are sound. We want a hungry fox anyways, not an ox, or a wolf. We have those already.” He glanced at Almitsel. “Forgive me, you’re clearly a badger. Think, with you guarding Wil’s back, what ill could happen?”
Almitsel rolled her eyes. “Few of us live to your age. He’ll die young if he comes with us.”
Death. Wil’s daydreams hadn’t included that, but if it happened, he’d be with Mother again.
“Well, boy,” Ranpa said, leaning forward. This close, his pointed ears, creased face, and crooked teeth loomed in grimy detail. “Have you the grit? Can you sleep cold and damp, eating hardtack or not at all, with only the call of adventure feeding your heart and driving your feet?”
Wil bit his lip. Even an obscure death sounded better than grey old age in wretched Oakbrook.
“Is it bad like scrubbing pots?” Wil asked.
The adventurers laughed, and the tension broke.
“Oh, that’s rich,” Almitsel said through her laughter. “I recant. He’s got wit, which might make up for its lack in you two.” In mirth, the stocky woman reminded Wil of his mother.
Eisen jumped into his saddle. “Glad that’s settled. Let’s be off.”
* * *
As Wil mounted the brown and white gelding, he felt awe that those grubby coins could buy such wonder. When Eisen paid the remainder, Wil protested, but the knight laughed him off.
“What will you name it?” Almitsel asked him, as she patted the gelding’s flank from her perch on a gray mare.
Wil touched the tooth around his neck. “Jalt.”
He wasn’t sure if his new friends were approving or amused.
* * *
From horseback, he felt distant from the drab crowds. As the group left Oakbrook’s stacked wood walls, Ranpa and Eisen discussed things Wil hardly understood, while Almitsel remained quiet. Wil marked their progress in relative tranquility.
Oakbrook soon became a gray speck among golden fields. Farmers waved and shouted for news as they passed, and Eisen smiled as he replied.
The farmers’ wheat might someday find Mistress Taveera’s bakery or the Wailing Wench’s larders. The connection was comforting, but Ranpa’s exotic tales intrigued him more. His mention of Alchemy spurred Wil to interrupt.
“You’re a sorcerer?” he asked. The question brought less worry than he’d thought it would.
Ranpa clearly enjoyed Wil’s fascination, though his eyes rolled. “The term philosopher suits me better. My craft is no magic to those who understand.”
If Eisen was a knight and Ranpa a sorcerer, what was Almitsel, Wil wondered, and what was his own role?
He pondered this until they neared the softwood forest. He felt worry at the sight of it. Oakbrook, despite its name, had no proper trees. Once they left the fields, his real adventures would begin.
He swallowed hard.
* * *
“Where are we stopping tonight?” Almitsel asked once they’d made the forest.
Not any place that could be called home, Wil knew.
“The townsfolk mentioned an inn near a crossroads,” Eisen said. “Sound better than a bush?”
“I like bushes,” Almitsel replied. “Better question, should I scout ahead just in case?”
“This close to town?” Eisen asked. “The farmers would have said something.”
But Almitsel had already left.
Wil wondered about his own role was while his fingers caressed the tooth. Somehow the talisman soothed him.
* * *
As the trees engulfed them, Wil’s fears rekindled, and Almitsel’s continued absence had become cause for worry on its own. The forest’s chirps, buzzes, and howls unnerved him, and strange scents tickled his nostrils. The sun had disappeared, leaving only darkening grayness around them.
Back home, the Wailing Wench would be crowded. Even with his head in a pot, he would hear the clamor. With distant howls ringing in his ears, he missed the kitchen’s firelight. Hadn’t Ranpa said they slept outside most nights, without walls to protect them? Maybe…
No, he could never go back. He wanted this life, a life of adventure.
Almitsel returned, her horse’s sides were heaving, but her face was calm.
“Any trouble?” Eisen asked.
“None but the usual.”
The usual? What was usual in the forest? Wil struggled to phrase that question in a brave way.
“How far out are those wolves?” he asked.
She snorted. “Far enough. Normal wolves avoid men.”
Her words brought abnormal wolves to mind, upsetting enough behind wooden walls, and his sudden fear forced his real question from his mouth. “Why’d you bring me along?”
She glanced at Eisen.
The half-grinning knight asked, “You sure you want to know?”
Wil nodded.
Eisen feigned brief consideration. “You’re quick,” he said with a mercurial grin.
That was it? Wil had hoped for something grander, that he was a fallen throne’s heir or a great wizard reborn.
Eisen’s next words fully dispelled Wil’s fantasies. “I’ll show you what I know of lock picking, and I’ve no doubt you’ll quick surpass me.”
Wil bit his lip to bleeding. They wanted him to pick locks, like a professional thief? Idealism aside, this reality wasn’t wholly repulsive. He doubted they would ask him to rob people who didn’t deserve it. That his natural gifts made him a worthy addition should cheer him.
Shouldn’t it?
* * *
Dusk had fled long before they made the crossroads. Since Eisen’s words, the silence had grown overbearing. Initially, Wil had struggled with this new role, but now he felt strangely comfortable assuming this mantle. But something still made his hand twitch fearfully. That and the calls echoing in the trees mingled to make him feel like a scared rabbit might.
The inn emerged from around a turn in the road, a squatting beast with square yellow eyes. Wil’s stomach seized, but Eisen’s hand on his bruised shoulder reassured him.
* * *
At the stables, Eisen said, “I’ll take the horses in,” as they dismounted, and took each bridle in hand.
“Very well,” Ranpa said. “I’ll engage the innkeeper for a night’s food and board.”
“Wouldn’t mind ale myself,” Almitsel grumbled.
They all left, but Wil didn’t know who to follow. He stood at the crossroads, the necklace’s thread digging into his neck.
The world lay before him.
His fingers ran across the tooth and caught on a crack he’d never noticed. He removed the necklace and held it before him. It felt heavier than it should.
He breathed ragged, misty puffs and wondered distantly when it had grown cold. His eyes went to the warm inn, then the necklace, and then the Oakbrook road. He stumbled one step towards the inn.
No.
He took another jarring step, this time towards Oakbrook.
Never!
He forced himself back towards the inn, but he didn’t want to go there either. A sob caught in his throat and he clenched the tooth so hard it bloodied his palm. He wanted this. He wanted adventure.
No.
He lurched again, towards Oakbrook, and forced himself to stop. The jalt’s tooth burned as his mind wrestled numbly with a choice that would define his life forever.
He didn’t know why he struggled so. He knew his own dreams, but the fight didn’t last long. The jalt’s tooth snapped in his fist and he fled down the road.
The broken tooth lay abandoned in the crossroads dust.
* * *
Wil heard Eisen call him. He did not answer.
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I like it! It’s very visual and immersive.
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